


everything you say is a sweet revelation

by liquidsky



Series: the future and the dreams it's made of [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Domestic Bliss, First Time, Idiots in Love, M/M, Slice of Life, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 02:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidsky/pseuds/liquidsky
Summary: Bucky glances at Sam briefly, quirking an eyebrow."Almost done." Steve says. He turns to rest against the sink, crosses his arms in front of his chest."What are we having?" Asks Bucky.His voice comes out strangled—it's satisfying, Sam thinks, to know he's not the only one having a hard time breathing around the sight of Steve's huge arms and disheveled hair. The quiet grin playing on the corners of Steve's lips is enough to make Sam's hands twitch by his side.





	everything you say is a sweet revelation

**Author's Note:**

> you know when you just can't stop thinking about something so you _have_ to go and write it? it's where i'm at with this fic. this verse (as it's now officially a _verse_ , or something) is honestly what dreams are made of for me, so i figure i might as well just keep adding to it.

Los Angeles has been a bust. Sam's not entirely sure what he'd expected, and maybe it was naive of him to have thought that all missions post-Thanos would be no more than a walk in the park, but it couldn't be said he wasn't an optimist. Sam stands up from one of Scott's ugly armchairs to go lounge next to Bucky by the stairs. He looks _kind_ of a wreck, black uniform stained even darker with what Sam guesses has to be either blood or the nasty-smelling slime they all ended up covered in. 

Sam looks around – Scott and Natasha are sprawled on the couch, a little dead behind the eyes as she types something on her phone. Steve, Sam notes, is nowhere to be seen. 

"He's in the kitchen." Bucky tells him. It's not surprising that he knew the question, and even less that he knows the answer. Sam must make a face, because Bucky gives him the kind of smile that makes Sam tingle all the way down to his fingertips. 

He nods. These past three days have been odd, in that Sam had sort of expected things to change, but so far nothing has. Neither he nor Bucky still averts their eyes whenever Steve catches them staring at him, and maybe any other time that would've been different enough, but it seems harder than usual to ignore his flustered expectations. It's exhilarating, sure, but he wants _more_. 

They'll have time, probably. Sam's collected a fair amount of fantasies over the past few months. They might have all been too short on introspective time these last three days, but he's still got quite the repertoire. 

Bucky turns to him with a knowing look, runs both of his hands down the sleeves of Sam's Captain America suit, "Wait 'til we get home."

"Who says I was having any thoughts?" Sam asks.

He's pretty sure his thoughts might as well be written on his forehead, but it doesn't hurt to cling to the notion that maybe he's not that obvious. 

"Weren't you?" Bucky smirks. He looks tired, hair sitting flat on top of his head, but the familiar twitch to his lips doesn't look any less charming. 

Sam quirks a brow at him, "Taken up mind-reading, have you? Maybe you can add that to your resume."

"I'm overqualified for the job already." Bucky notes. 

"Who told you that?" Sam questions, "They were lying to you."

Bucky rolls his eyes, "Have HR call Hydra for you."

"Quit flirting and get me some water, please," Natasha interrupts, sounding amused. 

Scott peeks at them with a small smile. Sam flushes. 

"Steve," he calls. "Nat wants water." 

"In a second!" Steve calls back. His voice sounds hoarse, meaning he's maybe gotten the bulk of the injuries. 

Sam feels his stomach tighten weirdly, has to remind himself that there's not much Steve's body can't handle. The reminder falls kind of sideways into his brain, and Bucky's smirking when Sam turns to look at him. 

"Shut up." Says Sam. 

Bucky's smirk, if anything, grows even wider. "Told you to save it for later." 

"Do we have to be here for this?" Nat asks. 

Scott snorts. Bucky's opened his mouth to give Nat what has to be some sort of petty answer, but whatever he was planning on saying gets lost in the funny way Steve's smiling when he and Hope turn the corner from the kitchen. 

"Here for what," asks Steve. 

Nat grins at him. "We're discussing your sex life, apparently." 

"Are we?" He turns to shoot Bucky and Sam an amused glance before handing the glass of water to Natasha. 

She thanks him, and he smiles. 

"We're not." Sam says, just as Bucky answers.

"Sam is."

Hope pats him on the back as she walks past him, so Sam thinks they're not being too open. Not that there's currently much to be open about, but here's to hoping. 

"I wasn't, actually," Sam argues. "How soon can we go, do you think?" 

Steve hums. "Probably another hour or so, as soon as Tony is done with checking that everything arrived well enough."

"Why is he taking so long?" Natasha complains. 

She scoots toward the edge of the couch so Hope can plop down between her and Scott. Hope rests her head on Scott's shoulder, and Sam feels sort of emotional for half a second. He doesn't glance at Bucky, but he can tell he's smiling. 

Instead of sitting down on any of the available seats (Sam kind of finds comfort in the fact that at least _someone_ has uglier armchairs than theirs), Steve stays up, stretching with his arms above his head. Bucky sighs pretty audibly, so Sam doesn’t bother looking the other way – he stares at Steve with a small smile, feeling giddy and overly warm now that the adrenaline of the day has slid out of him and all he’s left with is the bubbly simmering in his stomach. 

“He’ll be done soon," Steve tells Natasha. “Are you flying with us?” 

Nat nods. “Yeah. If you promise to keep your hands to yourself.” 

Steve glances at them, "We'll behave." 

"This is sort of surreal." Scott comments. 

Sam's not sure what it is that he's talking about—it's a toss-up between the fact that they've just gotten home from fighting yet another kind of alien and the fact that apparently Captain America has a _boyfriend_ now. Two boyfriends, actually. They haven't talked about it, and the word itself feels kind of silly in his mouth, but he's not sure what else he'd call them. 

"The aliens?" Steve asks. Sam kind of wonders if he's being thick on purpose. It's a very Steve thing to do, if you know him at all, but he's not sure either, so it doesn't hurt to check.

Natasha, because she's a dickhead, laughs. Scott reaches around Hope to flick her on the shoulder. He gives Steve an awkward laugh. So it's about them, then. Well, 

"Yup," Scott says. "Aliens again." 

Steve shrugs. "You get used to it, I guess." 

"I'd kinda like _not_ getting used to it." Sam mutters. 

"I'm with you on that." Hope tells him. 

He smiles at her. 

Scott gives them both a look. "It's sort of great, though. I mean, the universe is so big and now we have proof that we're not the only ones in it." 

"All I'm saying is that it would be nice not to have the _proof_ kick our asses on the weekly." Sam points out. 

Scott's not wrong, the idea that they get to see just how incredibly complex their universe is still gets to him sometimes. Admittedly, less so when all his muscles are screaming at him to get home and lie down, so one might have to excuse him for acting less than enthusiastic about whatever degree of contact they've just experienced. 

"Does anyone wanna order some food?" Steve asks. "I'm starving."

—

Home, when they stumble through the door dragging inordinate amounts of dirt in along with them, is just as they left it. It smells familiar, like the weird incense Steve insists on lighting every once in a while and the fabric softener Bucky refuses to go without. 

Sam inhales, feeling tension bleed out of his body as soon as he's safe inside their living room. Steve pushes him slightly forward in the direction of the kitchen. 

"I'm making dinner." Steve tells them. "Potatoes and whatever else we have." 

Sam smiles at him. "Okay."

"I'll go have a shower, then." Bucky says. 

He starts stripping down to his underwear, and Sam, though he's too exhausted for any sort of complex thought, starts feeling almost lightheaded. Bucky bunches up his uniform and stalks to the laundry room to shove it in their basket. They all share the same one, much to Sam's constant annoyance (they keep stealing all his good socks), and it's so full that Bucky's stealth suit kind of hangs halfway out of it. 

"Me too." says Sam. "Do you need help with anything?" 

Steve shakes his head. "I'm good, but thanks."

"No problem." Sam tells him. He doesn't want to lean against the wall in fear of spreading around whatever grime he's covered in, so he gives up on the idea of keeping Steve company for a little longer and goes to have a shower. 

It's nice – he lets his mind wander, scrubs himself down carefully while trying to picture what will happen next. He hopes something will happen, anything that feels like a step forward at all. 

He comes out of his shower to find Steve standing in front of the oven in nothing but his underwear, leaning slightly forward to check on whatever it is that's inside. Bucky, dressed in flannels and a t-shirt, is lounging against the doorframe watching him with a pleased little grin, so Sam pauses next to him to do the same. 

Bucky glances at Sam briefly, quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Almost done." Steve says. He turns to rest against the sink, crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"What are we having?" Asks Bucky. 

His voice comes out strangled—it's satisfying, Sam thinks, to know he's not the only one having a hard time breathing around the sight of Steve's huge arms and disheveled hair. The quiet grin playing on the corners of Steve's lips is enough to make Sam's hands twitch by his side. 

"Baked potatoes and chicken." Steve tells them. "I should probably shower too."

Bucky hums. "You look fine to me." 

"Do I now ?" Steve says. "Probably don't smell fine though."

Bucky snorts. "Yeah, you've got a point." 

Sam groans. "How do you keep ruining it?" 

Steve laughs loudly and Bucky turns to give him an incredulous look. "He asked!" 

"I did." Steve agrees. 

Sam rolls his eyes at them. "Fine, go shower. I'll watch dinner. We can try this again later."

"Try what?" Bucky says. He sounds openly entertained, so Sam shoves him closer to the wall on his way to the sink. 

Steve leans into Sam's space to give him a kiss on the cheek, "We'll try again."

He does the same to Bucky on his way to the door. Bucky wrinkles his nose jokingly at Steve, who pokes him on the side before leaving the room altogether. 

"Sorry." Bucky says, crossing the kitchen to shuffle closer to Sam against the sink. 

He nudges their hands together softly. Sam exhales, catching Bucky's hand in his. 

"It's fine." Sam tells him. "I'm just–having kind of,"

Bucky squeezes his fingers, "I know." He says, "Me too."

"I can tell." Sam assures him. "you're not the best with–you know." 

Bucky sighs. "Not when it comes to Steve, anyway." 

"Why not?" Sam asks him. 

If anything, it'd make more sense if Sam was the one Bucky had a hard time with. Steve and Bucky come as a duo, is what Sam has found, a matched set of people who'd always chose one another given anything. He's always known how Steve feels for Bucky, and it's impossible not to be startlingly aware of how Bucky sees Steve. He's seen it – the curious way Bucky's eyes follow Steve's steps everywhere, how they cling to his movements as though unaware of his surroundings, as though Steve's the only thing worth noticing. It used to make Sam's breath catch, something less than great trapped in his throat. Now, all it does is make him feel giddy. Warm in a way that is almost overwhelming. 

"Too long waiting, I think." Bucky says. "It's almost like I convinced myself it would never happen, except now it is." 

"You know he's not expecting anything, right?" Asks Sam. 

"What if he is?" Bucky says. "Something I won't be."

Sam looks at him. He understands Bucky better now, and Steve too. Like extensions of his own self, sometimes, though moments like this make him all too aware that there are still strings he can't untangle easily enough.

"He's not." Sam is sure of it. "All he wants is you, whoever you are now." 

"The love of his life." Bucky quotes. He sounds wondering, so Sam slides closer to him. 

"He meant it," Sam tells him, "You know he always does." 

Bucky sighs. He's quiet, and Sam follows his lead, not saying a thing for as long as it takes for his words to lay root in Bucky’s head. 

They’re still standing side by side, in silence with their hands linked, when Steve walks in. He looks remarkably soft in his pajamas, and Sam feels his lips twitch as Steve peers down at their joined hands. 

“Hi,” he tells them. “Are we trying again now?” 

Sam smiles, steps forward to meet Steve in the middle of the kitchen. Steve’s hands fit easily around Sam’s waist, pull him closer until they’re pressed together tightly. Sam sighs, and Steve presses his lips to the side of Sam’s face, drags them down to his jaw. 

Behind them, Bucky inhales loudly, so Steve pulls away from Sam to make his way to him. Sam turns to them, watches with a fond grin as Steve pauses to stand in front of Bucky. Bucky looks slightly wide-eyed, a blush high on his cheeks. 

For all the boldness that Bucky seemed to have within him three nights ago, now he seems almost shy – his hands are clenched tightly against the edge of the counter, and he doesn’t take his eyes off Steve’s. 

“Buck,” Steve says. 

Sam doesn’t glance away from them for even half a second. Bucky, caught in the warmth of Steve’s gaze, stays completely still until he doesn’t. When he pushes forward, it’s to loop both of his arms around Steve’s neck. 

“Fine.” He tells Steve. “We’re doing this now.”

Bucky kisses Steve, and Sam wouldn’t have thought it to be their first kiss if he didn’t know for a fact that it was. Steve’s hands cradle Bucky’s face in a way that looks almost practiced. The drag of their lips against one another is a sight to behold – Sam can’t tear his eyes away from the clench of Bucky’s hands on Steve’s waist. He feels lightheaded again, sparks catching fire inside out as he thinks back to Steve’s drawings, the careful precision in every detail of Bucky’s features and the soft way Steve’s fingers are touching his face now. 

It feels like walking in on a private moment, like stealing glances from someone you shouldn’t, but it doesn’t last long. Bucky pulls away first, his breathing, ragged and loud, echoing around the room. He looks at Sam, gives him a smile that pulls him back in instantly. 

Steve turns to him too – it’s the look on Steve’s face that gets him the most. He looks happy, not in a way that’s content, or settled. His happiness is just about blinding, sharp enough that Sam feels it heavy in his gut, the wide stretch of Steve’s mouth, the crinkles in his eyes. 

Sam smiles back at him, easy as anything. It doesn’t feel surprising, Sam registers, caught in the sense that maybe all their paths had always been leading up to this: the moment of realization, warm where their eyes meet, standing barefoot in their shared kitchen with the familiar smell of baked potatoes in the air and the giddy heat of belonging sizzling up their spines. 

“Now is good for me.” Sam tells them. 

He’s caught in their embrace as soon as he steps forward. He’d expected more fumbling, probably, and he knows with certainty that that’ll come later. For now, though, it feels as if all their edges have been carved specifically to fit one another, to make sure that when the time came they’d find it effortless, uncomplicated. 

The first slide of his lips against Bucky’s sends him reeling, but he’s held together by the press of Steve’s chest against his back. Sam wants too many things at once: his hand travels upward to caress Bucky’s face at the same time as he tries to push himself more firmly against Steve, whose arms are circling not only Sam but Bucky too, pulling all two of them closer to each other and to himself. 

Bucky catches Sam’s lips between his teeth and Sam chokes on a groan just as Steve plants a wet kiss to the side of his neck, hot against Sam’s skin. He’s thoroughly overwhelmed, is the thing, and Bucky pulls away from Sam to drag Steve into a kiss that happens right next to Sam’s face. He groans, loud, and Steve steps more firmly into his space, sandwiching Sam between him and Bucky in a way that doesn’t leave much room for imagination at all. 

It’s heady, too warm but somehow still not nearly enough, and Sam’s hands are trying to pull both of them even tighter to him. Sam’s body protests when they rest too heavily on his bruises, but he doesn’t linger on the feeling. Nothing really matters or stands out in contrast to the pressure of Steve’s hands down the side of his thigh, or Bucky’s hips snapping firmly against Sam’s own. 

He has to throw his head back, gasp for air and inhale almost desperately. It dawns on him, then, the smell – something smells distinctly burning, and he’s just about off of it enough to imagine that it’s coming from the rub of their bodies together, but then he looks up at the oven, from where a grey cloud of smoke is puffing out. 

He pushes Steve back. (His splutters would’ve been hilarious any other time, but Sam immediately regrets the distance.) 

“Dinner’s burning.” His voice sounds rough, like he’s swallowed glass. Steve, who’s looking at Sam with a look far too dazed, tilts his head in confusion. 

He looks down at the oven too, then. 

“ _Shit._ ” He says, moving fast past Sam and Bucky to turn it off and pull their food out. 

Sam and Bucky turn to peer at the tray. It looks, well. It looks eatable, Sam guesses, and he’s definitely hungry enough to gobble it down regardless of it not being spectacular, but Steve’s frowning at the chicken as if it has personally offended him. 

“It’s ruined,” he complains. The dramatic inflection of his voice is very on brand. 

Sam sighs. “It’s not ruined. It’s just a little, uhm–”

“Ruined,” Bucky concludes. The saving grace in all of this is that all three of them sound equally hoarse, so Sam has no place to feel self-conscious about having to clear his throat three times before speaking. 

“It’s fine.” He says. “We can have the potatoes and order some takeout to go with,”

Bucky pats Steve on the back. “Takeout sounds nice.”

Steve glances at them. He’s flushed, cheeks red and hair all over the place. It’s charming, even with the childish pout he’s sporting at the moment. “We have way too much of it."

“Well,” Sam starts, “It’s either that or no dinner, so take your pick.”

Bucky snorts when Steve sighs. “Okay,” he agrees. “But I’m not having burgers.”

– 

They end up having burgers. They arrive after thirty minutes of wait, all of which they spend half on top of each other on the couch, mindlessly watching an episode of Star Trek. Sam’s not too fond of it, but Bucky seems to love it, so he and Steve have learned to endure it. 

The pressing desperation that had caught hold of them earlier is mostly gone – exhaustion has officially started to weight on him, and he wants nothing more than to eat and allow himself to doze off for the night. 

The burgers are good (Steve tries to argue against them, but the effect is significantly lessened by the way he just about shoves all of his order down his throat in less than five minutes). 

Sam, still munching on the last of his two burgers, leans against Bucky’s chest and thinks of nothing but the soothing pattern of his breathing. Steve props his feet up on the coffee table, takes hold of Sam’s ankles to run his hands up and down his skin. 

It’s comfortable – Bucky occasionally lets out a chuckle or two at whatever’s going on on his series, and Steve keeps meeting Sam’s eyes with a fond grin. 

“We should go to bed,” Bucky tells them eventually, once the episode's over. He places both legs around Sam's torso, pulls him closer into him. "It's pretty late."

"No alarms tomorrow." Sam says. Steve squeezes his leg affectionately, and Sam exhales loudly. "How are we–"

He doesn't need to finish the question before Steve answers. "My bed's the biggest."

Bucky pushes Sam slightly forward to climb out of the sofa. "Great, so we're going there."

He goes first, walking easily to Steve's bedroom as if it might as well be his own. Sam glances at Steve. 

"You know that you should probably talk, right." 

Steve sighs. "Yeah. I know."

Sam gets up from the couch too, yawns loudly. His eyes are watering when he opens them. He finds Steve watching him with a soppy smile. 

Sam offers him a hand. "Let's go." 

"Sam." Steve says, fitting his hand in Sam's. "I didn't say it before, but. Good job today."

Sam smiles at him, softly. 

He knows what Steve means, what he's trying to say. Sharing the mantle has been easier than any of them could have anticipated. They're all doing good—being Captain America is just as much of a full-time job as he had expected it to be, but he finds that he doesn't mind it too much. It's rewarding, in a way, makes him feel something he didn't quite believe he'd feel again after all that's happened. 

He knows Steve doesn't feel the same, not anymore. That he's planning on passing the title to him. They haven't talked about it. It's hard to approach the subject when he knows how indebted Steve feels to the serum, how heavily he carries his sense of duty. 

Sam's not that sure they're ever going to talk about it, but he hopes so. Steve deserves to have whatever he wants, even if he doesn't seem to realize that all it takes is saying it out loud.

Sam squeezes his hand. "Thanks, Steve." 

– 

They fall asleep tangled in each other. Bucky's arms around Steve's waist, his legs thrown over his and brushing Sam's.

– 

When Sam wakes up, his head is resting softly on Steve's chest. It's comfortable, the smell of him warm and familiar. He's snoring, loud and kind of annoying, but it doesn't dimmer the loveliness of the moment. 

He looks to the side to find that Bucky's watching him with a quiet smile, looking all sorts of pleased. Sam meets Bucky's gaze, mouths _Good morning_ at him. 

Bucky grins, shuffles closer to them on the bed, reaches for Sam's hand. They intertwine their fingers, leave their joined hands resting over Steve's chest. The rise and fall of his body as he breathes is oddly hypnotic. 

Unbelievably, Steve doesn't wake up. Sam and Bucky watch him sleep, barely moving at all. It's only when Steve's cell phone starts ringing loudly that he stirs, looking all sorts of confused. 

"What–" Steve starts, blinking sleep out of his eyes. 

Sam reaches for his phone on the bedside table behind him, hands it to Steve. Bucky frowns.

"Yes?" Steve says into the phone, voice rough with sleep. 

Sam can't hear what whoever's on the other side is saying, but Bucky obviously can – he sighs, loud and put-upon, frown creasing deeper, so Sam assumes it's something less than great. 

Steve's face doesn't give anything away as he listens, stone-faced even as Bucky groans.

"What?" Sam asks. 

Bucky rolls away from the tangle of his body with Steve's to get up and stretch. Sam watches him do it, still unsure about what he should do. 

After about a decade, Steve disconnects the call. He groans, rubbing a hand down his face and closing his eyes.

Sam, who's still caught half on top of him, starts feeling impossibly warm as Steve shifts so he can push more firmly into Sam's face, arms wrapping around him, legs between Sam's, face shoved in the crook of Sam's neck. 

Steve grumbles something Sam can't make out, so he opts for squeezing him closer and running his hand up and down Steve's back. 

He meets Bucky's eyes as he looks up, finds his features trapped somewhere between a fond grin and a frown. 

Sam presses a kiss to the side of Steve's face. "Who was that?" 

Steve's breath tickles Sam's neck when he sighs. "Fury." 

"We have to go in." Bucky says. "Something happened with the artifacts we retrieved yesterday, we're needed for the investigation." 

Sam groans. "You're kidding."

"I wish, buddy." 

Bucky, who seems to have decided he's inconvenienced enough to give up on smiling altogether, starts stripping off his pajamas. Sam watches him do it – he's starting to think they'll never get around to doing _anything_ at this point Which is just disgraceful if you ask Sam.

Bucky stands there in just his underwear peering down at them, hands on his hips. Sam wants to drag him back into bed. 

"Imagine thinking we could have _one_ morning." Steve says, twisting away from Sam to fling himself off the bed too. 

He looks very regretful as he does it, so Sam's not too offended by how quickly he just moved. 

"Comes with the territory, I guess." Sam tries. 

Steve doesn't look convinced – if anything, the twist to his face grows even more uncomfortable.

Sam's not sure what to say. He kind of wants to tell them to tell Fury to fuck right off, but that's not possible. They know this. As Sam said, it does come with the territory, high as a price as it is to pay, Steve had always seemed to think it was worth it. Now, watching as he presses his fingers against his temples, Sam knows that might not be the case anymore.

Bucky squeezes Steve's shoulder comfortingly. "It'll be fine. Over quicker than we think, then we'll come back home and fuck each other's brains out."

Steve startles, eyebrows flying up. " _Jesus_ , Buck."

"What?" He says. "That _was_ the plan for today, wasn't it?"

Sam smiles. He knows what Bucky's doing, feels immediately grateful for the flush that's crawling its way up Steve's cheeks. 

"Do you think the government has a plan to keep you a virgin forever?" Sam asks. Bucky laughs, and Steve squints. "Maybe they have cameras installed to make sure they know exactly when to stop you." 

"First of all, _gross._ " Steve says. The sadness in his eyes giving way to slight humor. "Second of all, who says I'm a virgin?" 

Bucky laughs, so Steve picks up a pillow to whack him in the head with. " _Please._ " 

Sam snorts. "I mean? Fine. So you've had sex. Who did you fuck?" 

"Great question, Sam!" Bucky agrees. "Who popped your cherry?"

"Fuck _off._ " Steve tells them. "You're such assholes."

Sam grabs the pillow Bucky threw to the floor and starts making the bed, keeping his eyes on Steve the whole time.

"It's a fair question!" Bucky argues. 

Steve gives him a _look_. "Is it?" 

"Come on," Sam eggs him on. 

Bucky, who's still standing there in nothing but his underwear and looking more and more breathtaking the more humor colors his face, picks the left edge of the sheet to make sure it's crisp as can be. 

Sam's secretly pretty pleased about their shared background.

(Military fucking sucks balls, is how Sam privately feels more often than not, but perfectly making beds is the kind of life lesson he fully intends on clinging to).

"Was it Sharon?" Bucky asks. 

Steve rolls his eyes. "That's none of your business."

"Maybe it was." Sam says. "You two were pretty cozy way back when."

" _We_ were also pretty cozy and I haven't fucked you yet, have I?" Steve directs to Sam. 

Bucky snickers. " _Yet._ " 

Steve turns to level a glare at him. "You know what I mean." 

Sam wiggles his eyebrows at Steve. "You could've just asked."

"But he didn't." Bucky says. "Because he's a virgin."

"I'll kill both of you." Steve tells them, but his voice doesn't sound half as mad as he probably wants it to. Like always, Steve's too amused by Bucky's antics to really be angry, which Sam finds both absurd and absurdly precious. 

"But you _love_ us." Bucky argues. 

Steve meets Sam's eyes, clearly hoping for some sympathy. 

Sam smirks.

Steve looks up to the sky (or, well, to the ceiling) for strength. "Go fucking shower and leave me alone." 

–

Tony's looking thoroughly annoyed by the time all three of them enter the lab. Fury is standing by the main counter with his arms crossed and his brows furrowed, which means he's pissed and they might have to be there for longer than anticipated. 

Sam hears Steve sigh quietly, knocks their shoulders together in support. 

"Have we found anything?" 

Tony glances up at them. "Apparently some of these are magical devices."

He sounds skeptical (Sam can't for the life of him understand Tony's weird beef with magic, especially not after everything they went through) and a little bit like he wants to push all present parties out of the nearest window. 

"Okay." Steve says carefully. "Have we figured out their purpose?" 

"I like how by _we_ you mean _me_ , by the way. Great team spirit!" Tony says. "And yes, I have."

Sam peers down at the items scattered over the counter – they don't look too out of the ordinary, just like they didn't yesterday when they had retrieved them, so he's not sure what the exact difference between them and the rest of the extraterrestrial bullshit they're forced to deal with on a daily basis could be. 

"And?" He asks. 

Fury sighs. "Body swapping."

"Excuse me?" Sam says, just as Bucky mutters _oh, great_ under his breath. 

"Do we know if they've been used before?" Steve asks. 

"No." Tony answers him. "As far as we know they haven't. And we don't know who they were planning on using it on, so–"

Fury interrupts. "You see my problem."

"We're here to gather intel, then?" Says Steve. "Why us and not Natasha?"

"She's needed elsewhere." Fury tells him. 

It's cryptic as all fuck, in usual Fury fashion. Sam, not for the first time, kind of wants to drag Steve away by the hand and just leave everyone to fend for themselves. He wouldn't, not ever, but the desire is still there. Steve's mouth is pinched and he's very clearly defeated, but neither Tony nor Fury look like they notice, so Sam is left to wonder if he's the only one. He can't be – Steve's growing frustration has been quiet, but still evident enough that he doesn't think anyone could've missed it unless they were making an effort to. 

He glances at Bucky, who's frowning and watching Steve with a protective edge to his gaze.

"Fine." Steve agrees, finally. 

Bucky steps closer to him in what Sam thinks to be a silent display of support. "Where are we going?" 

"We've traced their activity all the way back to Vegas," says Fury. "And we believe they had a bigger team than what you took out."

Steve hums. "Okay. Anything else we need to know?" 

Fury slides him a perfectly inconspicuous folder, which Steve picks up with less patience than he usually has. He flips through the pages quietly while all four of them watch him. Tony, seemingly uninterested in watching Steve do nothing but frown at the papers, turns back to the artifacts to keep working on cataloguing all their properties. 

Steve's face is impassive when he looks up at Fury. He passes the folder to Sam, so Bucky crowds closer to him to read over his shoulder. 

"One man mission?" Steve asks him. 

Fury nods. 

Bucky, looking up immediately, says, "Yeah, that's not gonna fly. If Steve's going, we're going."

"That is unnecessary, Barnes." 

"Luckily I couldn't care less about what's _necessary._ " Bucky assures him. "Either all three of us go or none of us, so take your pick."

"Rogers–" Fury starts. 

"All three of us, then." Sam interrupts him. "Great choice."

Tony snorts. Sam glances at him with a small smile before looking back at Fury. 

Fury's watching them with an impatient look, eyes sharp on Steve like he's a puzzle he's having far too hard a time figuring out. It's not unlike how most people look at him (Steve's equal parts rash decision-making and annoying all-or-nothing impulsiveness, more often than not moving to the beat of his own excessive moral compass. Sam finds it compelling, but it's not hard to see how that might come across as infuriating). 

"When do we leave?" Steve asks, finally. Fury shoots both Sam and Bucky a mildly threatening stare before turning to meet Steve's eyes. 

He sighs. "In three hours. That enough time for you?" 

"Sure." Steve agrees, sounding only a little bit smug. 

"Great," says Fury. "If you'd all be so kind as to not fuck any shit up too hugely."

"Noted." Sam tells him, smiling with what he hopes seems more like confidence than insubordination. (It's both.) 

Fury doesn't grace that with a response, barely looking at them (Tony included) before stalking out of the room in what Sam could only describe as a flurry. 

The door has barely closed before Tony's sighing. "One of these days he'll have all of you killed." 

Steve rolls his eyes.

– 

Believe it or not, Sam's never actually been to Vegas before. The flight there is a quick one, which they spend mostly playing increasingly stupid rounds of Guess Who that all end with Steve losing miserably and trying to push them off their seats. 

"Landing in five." Warns the crisp female voice coming out of the panel, just as Steve's trying to shove Bucky away with his feet. 

Sam stands up, adjusting two of the guns hidden in his pants. They're dressed as civilians – inconspicuity is key, apparently, so Sam's clad in black denim and a dark green t-shirt, watching interestedly as Bucky pulls his cargo pants slightly up. He's quite a sight, dressed like this – which to anyone else would sound as though he's saying Bucky looks good, but Sam finds that he just looks funny. His usual option (consisting of ripped jeans, beat-up converses and 2000s-scene-kid zip-up hoodies) was vetoed by Steve on the count of it being, as he put it, _way_ too fucking much. 

Though he's pretty sure he's never said it, Sam likes it. Steve does, too, Sam knows, too hyper-aware of the warm fondness in Steve's eyes whenever they leave the house together. Bucky's style choices are very _him_ (stubbornly rebellious and slightly out of fashion), so it's difficult not to be grossly fond of them as well. 

"We're going straight to the restaurant?" Bucky asks, glancing at Steve. 

Steve checks his watch. "They should be there in about thirty, according to Fury's intel." 

"Do you think we'll get around to eating something?"

"You should've eaten earlier." Sam comments. In all fairness, he's also pretty hungry – their lunch wasn't particularly filling even for him, so he can only imagine how little it must have weight in their super stomachs. 

"We'll eat now." Steve tells them. "We have a while before they get there, and we're supposed to listen, so I think it's weirder if we _don't_ eat." 

Bucky grins. "See? There's that spy instinct."

"Also known as _common sense._ " Sam slaps Steve on the back, getting a knowing grin from Bucky when he lets his hand linger for longer than strictly necessary. 

"I'm a great spy." Steve argues. "You know that!"

Bucky smiles, shit-eating grin in place. "Not what you told Fury."

"Yeah, well. Excuse me for trying to stop him from ruining our free day." 

Sam grins, glances at Bucky quickly. "Did you have plans or something?" 

Steve flushes. "I'm not answering that." 

"Why?" Bucky asks. "We were just wondering what you planned to do with your day!" 

"Simple curiosity!" Sam agrees. 

Steve glares at them. "You know damn well–"

"I don't think I do." Bucky tells him. He shoots Sam a gleeful look, which Sam returns easily. 

"Come on, what were the plans, Stevie?" 

"Bucky said–" 

Bucky stops him. "You know all this beating around the bush just reinforces our virgin theory, right." 

"For fuck's sake. Not this shit again." Steve complains, walking past them to go lean over the navigation panel. 

Sam tsks. "If you can't talk about it–"

"I _can_ talk about it, I just don't–"

Bucky, who's made his way to Steve so he can press their bodies together side by side, says, "Wait, was it Tony?" 

Steve shoves Bucky away from him with a glare. " _Tony?_

His voice sounds hilariously high-pitched. Sam snorts. 

"It would make sense." He agrees, lying through his teeth to make Steve bristle at them both with an indignant look on his face. 

"I didn't– _obviously_ it wasn't Tony, what the fuck is wrong with you?" 

Bucky hums, turning to shoot Sam a considering glance. "Clint?" 

"He's _married_." Steve says. 

Sam shrugs. "Maybe it was Fury."

Bucky chokes on the bark of laughter that ripples out of him at Sam's words. Steve slaps him on the back, a murderous little dent on his forehead as he stares at Sam.

Steve opens his mouth to say something (undoubtedly the kind of argument that would only amuse Sam and Bucky even more), but whatever it was gets cut off by the voice coming from the panel. "You have arrived at your destination."

"Saved by the bell." Bucky tells Steve, still coughing around the words. 

Steve rolls his eyes. "You're lucky we're here, I would've thrown you off the plane."

"Sure you would've." Bucky says. The effect of his knowing grin is kind of ruined by how he can't seem to stop coughing, but Sam's pretty sure Steve gets the idea anyway. 

He blushes softly, so Sam squeezes his arm as they walk out of the jet. 

–

" _Jesus,_ that's a shit plan." Bucky says around a mouthful of lobster. 

He's chewing in the most infuriating way possible, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk as he tries his best to chew and speak at the same time. 

Sam wishes he wouldn't. 

Steve hums in agreement. "Right? What the fuck?" 

"Sounds like the first time they're doing something like this." Sam points out. 

They've been collecting intel for about half an hour now (which is to say that they've been sneakily eavesdropping on the targets' conversation with the help of one of Tony's nearly invisible microphones, that they had placed under the targets' table as they passed by it on their way to their own table when they'd first arrived at the restaurant) and so far all they've heard is a bunch of sloppily structured semi-planning. 

None of them is even remotely impressed – Bucky's right in saying that it's a shit plan, and Sam feels, for the briefest of seconds, almost bad for the targets. It has to be their first time ever doing anything close to whatever the fuck their end goal is, and maybe having nearly beaten Steve up had been more a strike of dumb luck than any real fighting skill.

Steve rubs his temples. "What's our move here?" 

"They know fuck-all about what they're doing." Bucky sighs. "We should just steal whatever shit they have and go home."

Sam nods. "Probably. Should we talk to them? Their motivation seems kind of–"

"Flimsy." Steve says, just as Bucky utters "Fucking stupid." 

"Flimsy is more the sentiment I was going for." Sam says.

Steve snorts. "How old do you think they are?" 

"The oldest seems to be around 23." Sam tells him. 

He glances at them. All four of the targets are sitting in different states of disarray – they stand out like a sore thumb, too young and unpolished to fit in a place like this, where most of the patrons look older and sure of themselves. Their plan, which consisted of defeating the Avengers by making them all switch bodies with one another, is almost unbelievably crap. Sam grimaces just thinking about it. It's a hard fucking pass unless he was stuck in either Bucky or Steve, and even so too much like the kind of mess he'd rather never have to deal with.

Their motive, put plainly, was to take over as the go-to superheroes for any and all world-saving purposes (as well as other minor occurrences.) 

Sam's not sure what he'd tell them. He could offer training, maybe, negotiate so they'd have jurisdiction over Arizona and nearby states and promise to call them if (most likely _when_ ) things go to global-scale shit. 

He says so to Steve, who looks for all the world like he could not muster a single ounce of patience and is more inclined to killing everyone present than to having any sort of civilized discussion at all. It's not something Sam sees often, the sharp little frown in Steve's features, the peevish tapping of his fingers against the table. 

Bucky seems almost impressed with him, something too warm in his eyes as he watches the tension of Steve's shoulders. 

At once, Steve sighs, tension bleeding out of him quickly. Sam places a hand on top of Steve's with a careful look. 

"Okay?" He asks. 

Steve nods. "Okay. How do we approach them? They'll probably get pretty spooked if we just move in on them now."

"We can wait for them in their room." Bucky says, shoving the last of his lobster into his mouth and standing up swiftly to make his way to the lobby. 

Steve and Sam follow him, walking quietly and unassumingly. No one turns to look at them (Sam can't quite get used to it, the way the rest of the world doesn't seem to be as utterly caught by Steve and Bucky as he is. He's constantly watching them, eyes unable to resist being pulled into their shared gravity, but everyone else seems just _fine_ looking elsewhere in their presence), so he shifts closer to Steve, linking their fingers together. 

Steve squeezes his hand, running his thumb gently across Sam's palm. 

"Which number is it?" Bucky asks them, arms crossed over his chest as he waits for the elevator. 

Steve passes the card to him. Sam leans closer to Bucky to read over his shoulder. 813, then. 

They shuffle into the elevator quickly when it arrives, stand too close together in the small space. Sam sneaks a glance at their reflection in the mirror, doesn't stop himself from looking at the slope of Bucky's back or the curve of Steve's ass.

Bucky nudges him with an elbow. "Focus, Wilson." 

"I'm focused." Sam tells him. 

"What you _are_ is watching my ass through the mirror." Bucky says, shoving him lightly. 

Sam shoves him back. " _Steve's_ ass, actually." 

Steve laughs quietly, an arm flying out to steady Sam as Bucky pushes him sideways.

"Thanks, Sam." Steve says. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Rude, _Samuel._ "

"I can turn around again to watch _your_ ass if it'll make you feel better, _James_."

" _James_." Bucky mimics, voice startlingly similar to Sam's. "I'm good, but thanks."

"He's not good." Steve whispers to Sam, so Bucky socks him in the sternum with just enough force to make Steve let out an _oof_.

Bucky snorts. "Focus, idiots. Which one of you has the card?" 

"I just gave you–" 

Sam interrupts him by reaching into Steve's back pocket and retrieving the card Bucky's actually asking for. 

Steve looks at it. "Oh, that one."

"This one, yeah." Bucky says, strutting out of the elevator and down the corridor. 

Sam's not going to lie, he kind of loves the way Bucky walks. He's changed since they first found him in Romania – he takes purposeful steps, now, stride deliberate and wide as though he hasn't got a care in the world. It looks good, makes Sam want to press close to him, stick himself to the planes of Bucky's back and follow each of his steps down to their very rhythm. 

Steve follows him easily, so Sam does too. 

The room is almost obnoxiously tidy when they enter it. Sam looks around. It doesn’t seem like it’s been used yet, everything neatly in place. Bucky and Steve inspect every inch of it while Sam stands by the door to keep watch.

They don’t find anything. Whatever the group has is either still with them or someplace else, so Steve plops down carelessly on one of the beds to stare up at the ceiling. Bucky sits down on one of the white, pristine-looking chairs placed next to a small table. 

“We should stay here after we talk to them.” Sam says. 

Steve lifts his head to stare at him. “In their room?”

“In the hotel.” Says Sam. “Doesn’t have to be this one, just–any hotel, just to get away from reality for a while. The three of us.”

Bucky smiles at him, fond enough to make Sam’s palms start sweating. “Sam’s right. We could stay. Order a bottle of champagne and strawberries. Like in that movie you like.”

“Pretty Woman?” Steve asks. “That’d be nice, I guess.”

Bucky gets up. “We’re doing it, then.” He pauses, “Look alive, they’re here.”

– 

Bucky won't come out of the bathroom. Steve's looking more and more nervous the longer they spend sat side by side on the bed, thighs touching, shoulders touching, hands placed on top of each other. 

The talk with the targets had gone surprisingly smoothly, Steve’s argumentative prowess as sharply convincing as ever. They managed things, which is what they _do_ , but Sam was still left with the funniest kind of whiplash at how easy it was to talk them into abandoning their plans and joining their side. They called Fury from the hotel, negotiated terms, shook hands and left unscathed. The targets were either too unaware of their power or too in awe of Steve’s general _everything_ to try resorting to their previously found luck, so in the end it really was as simple as that. 

They’d gotten a room for themselves. Top floor, with high ceilings and white furniture that had made Sam oddly aware of how accident-prone the three of them tended to be. They had the best intentions in mind, but Bucky’s been in the bathroom for over 15 minutes, and the sad hunch on Steve's shoulders seems to mean that he knows something must be wrong. 

Sam knocks his foot against Steve's. "I don't think you can escape the talk now."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say." Steve tells him, his voice not quite sounding right.

"He's scared." Sam says, because Bucky _is._

It's another thing they've never really talked about. They've circled around it plenty of times, standing on the edge of a bigger revelation (Sam thinks back to a few days ago, to the apprehension in Bucky's eyes as he told him Steve might be disappointed in him). 

Steve swallows audibly. "And you think I'm not?"

"Are you?" 

"Of _course I am._ He's all I've ever–he's all I've ever had. All I've ever wanted, too, and I thought I'd never get him. I don't have a single fucking thought that doesn't involve him, did you know that? That doesn't circle around what he wants or how he wants it and I would've done anything to–I _know_ he must think that I miss him, that I'm somehow stuck longing for the person he used to be. But he's _here_ , _he_ is, the people we used to be have no fucking place here because they don't exist. I don't–I don't want them to, not anymore . All that he is is what I want, it would be even if he _didn't_ because I'm just. It's enough for me that _he_ gets to want anything at all, it would've been even if it wasn't me, if it isn't–"

"It _is_." Sam interrupts him, squeezing his hand. "You have to know that."

"I should have told him all of this before." Steve says.

Sam turns to him. He takes him in, just as he's done a million times before, the flush on Steve's face, the shape of his nose, the crease in his brow. Sam doesn't think he'll ever grow tired of looking at Steve, of listening to his voice. His words carry such warmth, always, so Sam stands up, pressing a kiss to the top of Steve's head before walking over to stand outside the bathroom door. 

He knocks twice. "Buck?" 

Bucky doesn't open right away. Sam glances back at Steve, watches carefully as he rubs his face. It's not what they had planned for the night–there's nothing fancy about it, no expensive bottles of champagne or rich strawberries in decorated silver bowls. All they have is this: the air around them heavy with the weight of their combined expectations, the things they should've told each other first and somehow hadn't, their wishes and desires and the ways they still need to adjust the cut of their edges to fit into each other.

Sam knocks twice more. He doesn't want to stop knocking, so he knows right away he wouldn't, not ever–he'd wait, just as Steve would, simply because caught under the tide of their unsaid words there's the love he knows to be shared. He can feel it, in ways he'd only ever had once before them, its branches spreading out inside him, curling around him, carving space for themselves too deeply for him not to believe that he won't have to wait much at all.

Between one breath and the next, Bucky opens the door. 

"Hi." He says, with his eyes looking glassy but still somehow warm. 

Sam smiles at him, reaching for his hand easily. Bucky lets him, intertwining their fingers in a way just practiced enough that Sam feels his heart skip a few beats in his chest. 

Steve stands up when they turn to him. Sam's breath hitches at the look on his face, the intensity in his eyes as he stares at Bucky. 

"Buck–" Steve starts, but he doesn't get to finish his sentence before Bucky's letting go of Sam's hand to stalk forward and envelope Steve in a hug. 

The surprised look on Steve's face might be the best thing Sam's ever laid eyes on, along with the shape of his fingers clinging to the back of Bucky's shirt, the obvious way he inhales Bucky's scent as if it's the first breath of air he's ever taken. 

Steve presses his face to the curve of Bucky's shoulders, and Sam exhales, lips twitching into a smile. 

"Buck, I–" 

Bucky interrupts him with a kiss, a long press of his lips to Steve's. 

"Super hearing, Steve." He says as he pulls away, and Steve looks confused for half a second before breathing out a funny little _Oh._

Bucky shifts in Steve's arms, turning halfway in Sam's direction to offer him a quiet smile. 

"What are you waiting for, Wilson?" 

Steve grins, joy evident in his face. Sam's not waiting at all, not anymore. He moves forward easily, pulls Bucky into a kiss that makes Steve's hand curve tightly around Sam's waist. 

It's more charged than anything he's ever had before, making the hairs on his body stand up on end as Bucky bites down on Sam's bottom lip, his tongue lapping at the dents right after. He's warm, every inch of him caught in a reverie as he feels another set of lips nipping at the skin of his neck, another body crowing close against his.

He doesn't ever want to be anywhere else, not with the thrilling pressure of Steve's hands on him, pulling up his shirt as Bucky's fingers pry his pants open and start pushing them down. It's too much and somehow not at all enough, a paradoxical wave of want that leaves him drowning, gasping for air as Steve lowers his head run his tongue down Sam's chest and Bucky lowers himself to kneel on the floor. 

Steve moves swiftly to stand behind Sam, plastering himself to Sam's back, pressing his hard-on to Sam's ass and nipping softly at Sam's earlobes. 

He curves his hands around Sam's hips, lets them travel upwards to his waist and his chest, too firm and sure to feel anything but sharply owning. Sam tries to exhale, finds himself choking around a groan that echoes through the bedroom more loudly than he had thought possible. 

Sam looks down at Bucky to find him gazing up at him with a knowing little grin stretched across his face. He has to force his eyes closed as Bucky leans into him to lick a wet stripe up Sam's thighs, one that he follows with plump lips until his breath is fanning hotly on Sam in a way that has him pushing himself against the pressure of Steve's body. 

Steve hums amusedly from behind him, pushing his nose against the crook of Sam's neck. He presses his hands firmly against Sam's navel just as Bucky pulls him into his mouth–Sam groans, too loudly, somehow high enough to make Steve chuckle warmly against Sam's ear. 

Steve's hands find Sam's, tangling their fingers together and moving downwards to thread through Bucky's hair. Bucky looks up at them, eyes reverent, so Sam pulls just a little bit. 

The vibrations of Bucky's groan feel almost otherworldly good around him, heightened by the light sting of Steve's teeth as he bites down on Sam's neck playfully. It builds like that, a wave on its way to shore, powerful and out of his control as Bucky finds the pace that works best, that has Sam squeezing down on Steve's fingers where they're pulling together on Bucky's hair, his breathing speeding up. 

Bucky doesn't pull away when it happens–Sam doesn't want him to, even as he starts feeling too over sensitive to stay as they are, shivering under Steve's hands. 

"Buck." Steve calls gently, and it's only then that Bucky leans back, springing to his feet and pressing himself tightly against Sam to reach Steve's mouth over Sam's shoulder. 

Sam flushes as Steve groans into the kiss (a sound he's come to associate with Mexican takeout nights, of all things), and he almost wants to move away from them. He's kept in place by the press of them crowding even closer, though – and he's glad for it, feeling as both Steve and Bucky grind forward into him. 

"We should–" he tries, but his voice comes out too rough to be heard. He clears his throat. "We should move this to the bed, probably."

Steve pulls away from the kiss and presses his lips softly to the side of Sam's face. "Great idea." 

– 

Sam wakes up to find Bucky sprawled across just about the entirety of the bed while he and Steve are haphazardly pressed against each other on the far end near the wall. He can't help but smile as he blinks sleep out of his eyes, the memory of the previous night pulling brightly at his gut. He turns around to face Steve only to see that Steve's already awake and watching him with a thoughtful gaze. 

"What are you thinking about?" Sam asks him, quietly. 

Steve grins at him. "Wondering if I get to keep this." 

"You do." Sam answers him, leaning up to press a closed-mouthed kiss to Steve's lips. "It's not just that, though, is it?"

Steve doesn't say anything for a while. Sam waits for him to break the silence, reaches for his hand. 

"Sam," Steve starts, careful. "Do you think it's possible that there a world where I'm not–where I'm not Captain America?"

Sam's prepared for the question. Though Steve himself sounds full of doubts, Sam isn't. He's seen this coming, is pretty sure Bucky has too. In his head, all it comes down to is that Steve deserves whatever he wishes for—he's traded more than anyone could begin to imagine and all he seems to have to show for it is the weight of other people's expectations. He deserves better than that. 

"It could be this one." Sam tells him. "If it's what you want."

Steve sighs. "I can't just put this on you, though. Just expect that you'll pick up where I left off."

"You're not. The choice of whether we can hold the weight of the mantle is ours to make, Steve. Just like it's your choice whether or not you decide you want more from life than this."

"What would I do?" Steve asks him. 

Sam's familiar with this version of Steve too, the shy hope coloring his words. 

He smiles. "Whatever you want."

"I could go to school." Steve says. "Art school, maybe. Open a gallery?" 

"That'd be nice. Have a fancy opening, we could sneak out for cheap pizza afterward."

"There's a lot of materials I've never worked with, might be fun to try."

Sam wants that for him. For them. "It'll be great."

Steve gives him the warmest look Sam's ever been in the receiving end of. "It will."

They offer each other matching grins, their giddiness only brightened by Bucky's voice, muffled by the pillows and sounding very cranky but undeniably fond, 

"That's very fucking cute, but _some_ of us are still trying to sleep here."

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like writing down that i plan to write a sequel to this is honestly just gonna end up jinxing the whole thing but i also _really_ want to say that the whole Is Steve A Virgin subplot is gonna be resolved in the next installment (which is pretty much just art school student steve rogers and his captain america boyfriends).
> 
> this is not beta'd, by the way, so though i tried my best to catch any and all typos i _might_ not have quite succeeded. i hope you were able to enjoy the story anyway if you read it. as always, i'm [unhawkeye](https://unhawkeye.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if anyone wants to come hang out. thank you for reading and have a lovely day!


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